


Quantum Immortality

by ImagineYourself



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arguing, Breaking Up & Making Up, Except they didn't really break up, Like nothing but angst, M/M, Minor Injuries, Non-Explicit Sex, Peter is a Little Shit, Rough Sex, Wade Has Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-14 07:52:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13585617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImagineYourself/pseuds/ImagineYourself
Summary: “You’re playing with fire here, baby boy.” The sneer on Wade’s face was ugly. His eyes were in shadow, so dark Peter could not see any reflection, could not read anything they might be trying to tell him.With measured breaths and calculated movements, Peter went nose to nose with him. He whispered, low and steady, “Then burn me.”





	Quantum Immortality

**Author's Note:**

> Title lovingly taken from the song of the same name, this fic was inspired by it and the song Slow Burn both by Crywolf. Also inspired by a scene I wrote with my OCs, though the context was completely different. I was in the mood for writing characters fighting when they obviously love each other. Who better than these two idiots?
> 
> I sort of went with an experimental writing style, too, so this might feel and read weird (hopefully not though).

It was on his way back home after a long night of fighting crime.

Peter was exhausted, he had school in the morning, and he was still bleeding from a slice to his thigh. He was looking forward to bandaging himself up, grabbing a protein bar, and falling into bed for the few hours he still had left before dawn.

He stopped daydreaming for a moment when the back of his head tingled and made him look back. Nothing was there. Just the sounds and lights of the city passing beneath him as he swung between buildings.

It was too late for him to look ahead again by the time he crashed into a solid mass. He would have dropped if arms hadn’t suddenly been around him, grabbing onto his webs and letting them finish the arc of the swing, tumbling onto the sidewalk at a soft angle.

“Whoa there!” a voice proclaimed loudly, like someone was reigning in a horse from the wild, wild west.

Peter landed in a heap, taking a moment to get back to his bearings. He looked around for the source of the voice.

Above him was an unfamiliar red suit, beady white eyes staring down at him.

“Uh oh,” the suit said. “Looks like I got caught in this spider’s web.” Whoever he was, he laughed, then held out his hand for Peter to grab, to pull him to his feet.

Peter looked at the hand. Looked at the man. Looked down the street.

He took the hand.

 

-

 

Peter breathed.

He dragged air into his lungs and pushed it back out, heavy and thick, back and forth. His diaphragm expanded and contracted.

He had his arms thrown up before him. Across the room, stuck to the wall with webbing, Deadpool was wriggling. He stopped, looking over at where Peter was just waiting.

“Wasn’t expecting that,” Wade said lightly, following it up with a chuckle.

Peter heard the skip in his heartbeat, though.

“I take it you’re still mad at me, yeah?” The grin was evident in his voice, but Peter knew it was wavering behind his mask.

He did not speak.

Wade had plenty to say in his stead. “You gonna let me out? I’m a little stuck here, baby boy.” A pause. “Nah? Cool, sure. I’ll wait for this stuff to disintegrate. Meanwhile, you might want to put some clothes on or something. I don’t think either of us want me to get a boner right now.”

Peter curled his lip, finally relaxing his stance. He undid his webshooters from his wrists, setting them back on his nightstand. He turned on the lamp. He sat on his bed. He pressed his hands together, elbows on his bare knees. At least he was wearing boxers, trying to grab clothes would require him to stand right next to Wade’s—now wriggling again—body.

“What did you come here for?” Peter asked, resolutely looking at the floorboards beneath his feet.

“I missed you! Soon as I got back into town I thought, ‘Hey! I should go see Spidey!’” Wade waved his fingers around like he was trying to gesture. “Figured I’d surprise you. Guess it was a little too surprising, heh.”

The joking tone was completely unaffective. Peter didn’t raise to the bait.

“Hmm, not in the mood for talking either, huh Petey?”

Peter fixed him with a level stare. “What did you come here for?” he asked again, more firmly.

“I just told you,” Wade started. “I missed—”

“Think very carefully about your words here, Wade,” Peter said sharply. That got the merc’s mouth to snap shut.

Audibly.

“Pete. Are you really—are you still mad at me?” Wade’s voice was uncertain. Hesitant like he hadn’t been the last time Peter had seen him. Had heard him speak. “It’s been—”

“Six months, Wade!” Peter tried not to shout. He stood, gesturing widely. “It’s been six months without a word. And you come—you come _waltzing_ back in here like you didn’t—like you didn’t . . .”

“I’m sorry, Petey. I—”

“ _Sorry._ Oh he’s _sorry_!” Peter laughed dryly. He threw his hands above his head, then turned away, crossing his arms over his chest. “Sorry won’t cut it this time.”

Wade’s voice was deadly when he asked, “What do you want me to say, then? If I can’t say sorry, then what?”

Peter groaned. He scrubbed his face with his hands before turning again to face him. He put a hand on his hip, the other waving first to Wade, then himself. “How about that you didn’t mean it? How about that you were wrong? That you regret it? That you wish you could take it back? That—” Peter slowed, crossing his arms again, looking away, “—that you actually care about me?”

His last words were just a whisper. Still too loud in the precipitous silence that followed after. He did not dare to look up. He did not dare see what expression Wade was fixing him with.

From the wall, hoarsely, Wade said, “It’s because I—that I—”

Peter scoffed. “Wade, please. “

“No.” Wade made a sound like a growl. It made Peter look. “I _hurt_ you,” Wade hissed, head down.

“I don’t care,” Peter said.

“It doesn’t matter! I hurt you. It’s unforgivable.”

“I forgive you!” Shaking, hands fists at his sides, Peter watched him with fiery eyes. “I’m _fine_. What’s unforgivable is you just _leaving_ me like that. What you said . . . That hurt more than anything you could ever do to me.”

His bottom lip trembled. He would not cry, he refused it. Wade didn’t deserve to see his tears, not like this.

Wade let out a long sigh. “Petey, please let me down from here.”

“ _No_.” Peter turned halfway, lifting a hand to his mouth briefly. “No. You’re just going to run away again.”

“I won’t.”

“You will. You always have. Why would you change now?” Peter shook his head, even as Wade tried to speak again.

 

-

 

Spider-Man was laughing. _Peter_ was laughing.

“I tell ya, kid, nothing like it.”

Deadpool— _Wade_ —lifted a hand, palm out, waving it across the sky above them, blotting out the hazy stars from where they lay.

Side by side, Peter’s head rested on Wade’s arm, under his head as a pillow. His knees were bent, hands twisted together over his stomach where he could feel the stutter of his own lungs.

“Sounds amazing.”

Wade dropped his hand and sighed. “Yeah. Wish I could take you someday.”

“You’d do that?”

“For you? Hell yeah.”

“Why?”

“Well,” Wade started, stretching out his legs and toes, “it’s obvious.”

“Enlighten me,” Peter prodded, grinning.

“Imagine, Spidey. You and me, under the stars, the lights in the sky illuminating the world to us. The reflections in your eyes . . .”

Peter had stopped smiling.

“You’d look so pretty. Ain’t that right, baby boy?” Wade’s voice was trying to be light, but it was too soft, too sad. Wistful, imaginative, hopeless.

“Hey.” Peter shifted, propping himself up on his elbow so he could look into Wade’s masked face. “What’s wrong?”

Wade shook his head, smile evident even through fabric. “Eh, it’s nothing to worry about. Just thinking too much. Got a lot hanging around in his fucked up noggin,” he said, laughing and smacking a hand to the top of his head.

Peter stared. He was frowning, mouth pinched. Timidly, he reached out, laying his fingers on Wade’s chest. There were two layers between them, but Peter felt like he was touching bare skin for how intimate this was. Maybe it was just his imagination, but he thought he could feel Wade’s heart skip.

“Hey, Spidey?” Wade asked softly, trying to get his attention.

“Yeah?”

“You’re—ah—touching me.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Like, your hand. Is. Um. Baby boy?”

Peter was shifting again, scooting closer. The hand on Wade’s chest slid to his neck, then the side of his face. Wade was silent, holding his breath, as Peter leaned close, pressing their mouths together, ignoring the two masks in the way of an actual kiss.

Underneath him, Wade was completely still.

Peter pulled back, looking into the lenses of the Deadpool mask like he could see right through.

When Wade did not respond, Peter kissed him again. He rested his chest to Wade’s, legs curled, one on top of Wade’s thigh. They were really hardly touching, but Peter felt like he was covering Wade’s whole body with his own skin.

“It’s okay,” he whispered when he separated their mouths. “It’s okay.”

Wade finally breathed, shallowly at first. His hands lifted. One to Peter’s hip, the other to his wrist, the one attached to the hand holding his face.

Peter cried out as the grip became crushing, breaking his webshooter and his bones as he was pushed away. Wade was rolling away into a crouch, leaving Peter kneeling, clutching his hand to his body as it seared with pain.

“Wade? What—?”

“Shut up. Just—just shut up,” Wade said haltingly. He was standing, looking off balance, touching his head with one hand. His other was holding a pistol, aimed at Peter.

Peter blinked, a whine unwittingly leaving his throat.

Waving the gun a few times, Wade dropped his arm. “Fuck. _Fuck_. Shit, I—oh, fucking—“ Wade groaned like he was in pain, gesturing to Peter then turning away. His limbs were loose, like it was too much trouble to hold himself together.

“Wade . . .” Peter tried again.

“What did I just say?” Wade asked rhetorically, briefly pointing the gun at him again. “Fuck, sorry.” He looked at Peter again, shaking his head and making distressed noises. “Are you okay? Wait, shit, you’re not. Fucking stupid, of course you’re not.”

When he laughed, the sound was dark and humorless.

“I’m—I’m fine, Wade. It’ll heal. Please just—” Peter shut up as soon as the gun was pointed at him again. “Put the gun away, please,” he said very softly.

Wade lifted his hand, staring at the gun like he had no idea how it got there. He holstered it immediately. “Yeah. Okay. Yeah.” He turned in a few circles, throwing his hands around and groaning again, cursing under his breath. “Shit, Spidey, you—” He laughed again. “You _kissed_ me? What the fuck was that?”

Peter could still feel the burning pain of his wrist, but he was also feeling his chest being torn apart. “I thought—I’m sorry. I thought that you . . . Sorry.” He shook his head, dropping his chin, eyes watering. “I just thought—”

“What? That I want you or something?” The words were hollow though they were trying to be piercing. “You fucking thought wrong, kid.”

“It’s Peter.”

“What?”

“My name.” Peter reached up with his good hand and pulled his mask off, revealing his face. The tears on his cheeks, the pain in his eyes and the set of his mouth were revealed, too. “It’s Peter Parker.”

Wade stood motionless for a long moment and Peter didn’t look away. Even as he sniffled and clenched his mask between his fingers, he didn’t look away.

“Fuck.” Wade’s voice broke.

“Wade, please.” Peter’s voice was quavering. “Don’t tell me I’m wrong. Don’t tell me you don’t want this, too. You said—you—” He paused when his breath hitched in a sob. “Just don’t—don’t.”

There was only the sound of his strained breathing until Wade straightened.

“You’re wrong,” he said, but the words were lies, dripping off his tongue. “I don’t want this. I don’t care about you.”

“You’re an asshole,” Peter whispered, wetness dripping from his chin and onto his lap. “You’re such an asshole.”

“Yeah, well, you are what you eat.” The laugh that followed was a sound Peter had never heard. “It’s fine if you hate me. You should.”

“Wade, I don’t—”

“Hey, no hard feelings, yeah?” Wade started walking backwards. He bowed as he went. “Smell ya later, Petey-pie.”

He disappeared before Peter could even gather enough breath to shout at him not to. Then Peter was alone, on his knees and in the cold, broken bones and broken-hearted.

 

-

 

Peter shredded the webbing with efficient hands, stepping back quickly as Wade shook the last bits off. He turned away, arms crossed in an effort to keep himself warm as the chill of the room was finally touching his bare skin.

Fingers brushed against his shoulder. Peter flinched away.

“Don’t,” he said. “Don’t touch me unless you mean it.”

Wade’s voice was low as he said, “Fine.”

Peter thought that Wade would back off, step away, leave maybe. He did not expect for heavy arms to pull him into an embrace, his back pressed to the warm and broad expanse of Wade’s body. Gloved hands were strong but gentle when they grasped his wrists.

The one that had been broken by this man, this crazy, crazy man, was coaxed between fingers, a thumb dragging along tendon and veins.

It was as close to an apology as Wade could get.

Peter sighed, long and slow, the breath leaving him in a shuddering, defeated way. He escaped, darting away. Staring, eyes wide, he regarded Wade with tension bleeding into every muscle, every panted breath.

“Thought you didn’t care,” Peter accused. “Thought you didn’t want me.”

In two seconds flat, Wade removed his mask.

His eyes were dark; shadows highlighted the pallor of his scarred skin, marred with pockmarks and spidery lines etched into the hard lines of his brow, his jaw, a once proud nose now appearing permanently broken. He was scowling, lip curled.

“You still want me now? Seeing _this_?”

Peter did not feel the fight leave him. He did not relax. He was clenching his jaw, eyes narrowed. His hands were balled again. Wade was looking at him with a similarly stormy expression.

“Yes.”

A chuckle like a black comedy was torn from Wade’s mouth. He stalked closer until he was inches away. “You sure about that?”

Peter stood his ground. “Yes,” he hissed.

“You’re playing with fire here, baby boy.” The sneer on Wade’s face was ugly. His eyes were in shadow, so dark Peter could not see any reflection, could not read anything they might be trying to tell him.

With measured breaths and calculated movements, Peter went nose to nose with him. He whispered, low and steady, “Then burn me.”

He supposed he’d never know if it was the right thing or the wrong thing to say, but Wade’s hands were suddenly cupping his jaw and pulling his hair, yanking him into a blindingly hard kiss. It was all bruised lips and power, a show of strength that had Peter clutching at whatever he could reach. Wade’s shoulders, his arms, the fabric of his suit, the straps of his holsters, his hips.

Wade roughly tugged his head to the side, latching his lips and teeth to the skin of Peter’s neck. Peter gasped, whined, moaned. His throat was bitten enough to bruise, his collarbone sucked on by a ravenous mouth.

Fingers were digging into the flesh of his ribs, his back. Wade groaned against his skin. A possessive touch wrapped around his hips, hauling him close enough to grind into Wade’s crotch.

“Ah, fuck,” Peter swore, lips against Wade’s temple. “ _Please_.”

Wade growled. Hands gripped his ass and suddenly Peter was being lifted from the ground. His legs went around Wade on reflex, but a blink later his back was landing on his bed, Wade between his thighs and trapping him with forearms on either side of his head. Insistent lips were pressed to Peter’s, a probing tongue getting a taste of his mouth, his teeth.

Peter could barely breathe. His senses were overloaded with _more, more, more_. Danger lurked in the back of his mind but he was unafraid of the weight atop him. He was unafraid of the hips rolling against him. Unafraid of the gloves being pulled off so bare, textured skin could slide along his chest, down to his hip, knee.

“You’ve really done it this time,” Wade was murmuring against his jaw. Blunt teeth nipped at his pale skin.

His hands around the back of Wade’s head, Peter gasped, “You gonna fuck me?”

Wade made a sound halfway between a laugh and a groan. “Since you asked so nicely.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me,” Wade quipped. He leaned back so their eyes could meet.

Peter didn’t hesitate in saying, “Yeah. I do.”

The look on Wade’s face was worth it. The way his lips pressed together and his brows dropped. His gaze said he was searching for something, but he didn’t appear to find it.

“Peter Parker,” Wade whispered.

“Wade Wilson.” Peter was smiling, just a little.

“You must be insane.”

“So are you.”

Peter stopped him from saying anything else useless by pulling him into a kiss, lacking in all finesse and wet with tongues, but perfect nonetheless.

They rutted together, exchanging quick, breathy kisses, until Peter came, Wade following shortly after, neither having even shed his clothes. That didn’t matter. It only mattered that Peter was drawing lazy patterns along Wade’s shoulder, studiously ignoring the fact that Wade still had katanas strapped to his back and guns holstered to his waist and thigh.

Face buried into Peter’s chest, he could feel and hear when Wade said softly, “I’m sorry.”

Peter shut his eyes, a faint smile on his lips. “I forgive you.”


End file.
